Empty Souls
by FrozenRainDrops22
Summary: In his crushing loneliness, John consults the scientists of Baskerville to make a clone of Sherlock. But things can never be the same, especially with the soul of an empty child. I intend for this story to be heartbreaking and tragic. Btw, Sort of a kid!fic. Set after Reichenbach.


**Alright hello. Um, I haven't abandoned my other cross over story, I just kinda wanna write Torchwood into it but I need to watch it before I screw it up lol. But as for this story, the idea randomly popped in my head. *shrugs* hope you like it…**

And it seems then, that every day became the same and meshed into the next where nothing would ever happen. Who would miss a day, where nothing happened? The lines on John's face grew deeper, and the way he once carried himself so proudly, grew tired, because that's exactly what he was. John was just tired, so incredibly tired. Tired of the constant, 'How are you holding up?' or the constant hushing of voices when one accidentally brought up a certain name again. John was tired of faking smiles to not worry others, and tired of crying himself to sleep. He was especially tired of the nights that 221B was unbearably silent and he would find himself staring into the darkness in the dead of night, too broken to sleep and too exhausted to shed any more tears. Where he would leave violin music playing downstairs so perhaps he could sleep under the false security that Sherlock never jumped, and was just downstairs as he should be; playing away to his hearts content. And John would always promise to return to reality once he awoke the next morning.

And two long years, that felt more like a life time to John, passed. He was sitting in front of his laptop, chin resting in his hands with his fingers intertwined in thought as he stared at his blog. He hadn't updated since that day; the worst day of his life. He sighed as he was looking through it one last time before he considered deleting the whole thing. There was no use in having it anymore if he wasn't going to update it.

He smiled sadly as he scrolled up to the one titled, '_The Hounds of Baskerville' _He found himself re-reading the case for this first time in years and reliving the experience. They had both been so frightened, he chuckled to himself. He continued reading until he got to the bottom of the page where the comments were.

**'**_**Henry was a "normal-looking bloke?' Really John, you should become a professional author!'**_

John rolled his eyes with a sad smile. He sat there recalling the whole event. The twisted forest area of Dartmoor, the foggy pits of Dewer's Hollow, that awful sterilized white lab with God knows what they were doing in there. All that experimentation on genes, and cloning.

John paused. 'I wonder how far they've gotten into their research.' He thought to himself. He abruptly sat up straight in his chair as ideas suddenly started flooding his mind.

"No..no, what are you thinking of, that's ridiculous John." He stood up and started pacing the room. "Why is it so ridiculous? I'm sure they have the technology. Would it be so bad?" He argued with himself.

He turned on his foot abruptly. "That's ..no, John that's wrong. He's dead." His eyes widened. "He doesn't have to be.." A head shake. "But he is. And that's the way it has to be." He hesitated. "What makes you think they'll actually let you in again?" John paused. "It's not like Mycroft cares about me anymore, all surveillance is gone." The army doctor stopped pacing and his mind started turning with ideas. "I've gone completely mad haven't I?"

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John didn't exactly know how he ended up driving to Baskerville, stolen documents from Mycrofts office next to him in the car, and Sherlock's old hairbrush in a plastic concealed bag. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel nervously while he waited for clearance into the facility. He had a feeling they might either recognize him from the newspapers or last time he was here, but they didn't seem to do either, so John figured it was all old news by now or they just didn't want to get in his way.

Upon entering the facility, John repressed memories of last time he had been there and tried not to feel the haunting empty space beside him. He made his way across the familiarized setting to the woman he spoke to last, and there she was, like it had only been yesterday.

He cleared his throat to get her attention. "Dr. Stapleton, it's been a while."

The woman looked up from the work she had been too distracted with to notice John's arrival. Her eyes grew wide. "…you. What are you doing back here?" She asked in disbelief.

"I've…come to ask for a favor." John replied as his face started to break, revealing his vulnerability.

"You can't just ask for a favor here. This isn't a business-"

"We helped you catch a murderer in your facilities and cleared your name of creating murderous creatures. Please." John asked in the most sincerest of voices. "If you want money, name a price."

Stapleton hesitated before she gave in and sighed. "What is it that you need?"

"I want my friend back."

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"Cloning isn't exactly a simple process Dr. Watson. Surly you can imagine."

John nodded, "I can."

"You won't jut get another Sherlock. He won't have the same memories, the same upbringing or anything. He'll just be an empty shell."

"Then I'll teach him."

Stapleton closed her eyes in frustration. "It's also incredibly dangerous. We have to grow a whole body from one cell combined with his DNA."

"Is it possible?"

"It's been done.."

"Then do it again."

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He didn't know why he had been so persistent on making this happen. If he had been in his right mind, John probably would never have even considered it. But John wasn't in his right mind, he was a broken man, he was one part of a half who wished to be whole again. And that was enough for him to keep at it. The process had taken a while, he returned to Baker street after surrendering over the DNA in Sherlock's brush. He had returned the papers to Mycroft's office when he wasn't looking, easy now that Mycroft had practically cut all ties with him. Without Sherlock to worry about, what was the point of having to keep watch over John?

And so many months passed John had almost forgotten all about what he had done. It had been one of those nights that the music played in the living room as John lie in bed, when suddenly, he heard a knock at the door. Confused as who would be there so late at night, John got out of bed cautiously. He made his way down to the living room and turned the music off. Then continued down the stairs until he was at the very front and opened the door. He watched as a car sped off as soon as he opened the door, he then looked down to see a little boy around seven or so, staring intently at him. He was dressed in a small brown coat and black trousers.

The boy reached into his pocket and held out a paper for John. The army doctor took it and started reading it.

**Dr. Watson. **

** This is what we were able to do in our facilities. We were able to rapidly grow him to this age without any harm. He has the ability to talk and his motor skills seem to be intact. He may appear older but you have to treat him as a newborn to this earth. His growth genes have been slowed back down so that he'll be growing like a normal boy again. Sorry if he isn't as old as you would have hoped this is still new technology and we aren't sure sometimes of the results. Problems have occurred with others. Take good care of him. **

** -Stapleton.**

John slowly put the paper down as he stared at the little boy before him. The dark curly brown locks and stunning blue eyes were a dead give away as who this little boy was. John got down on one knee and placed a curious hand on the boy's cheek, gazing into those brilliant blue eyes. The boy returned an empty stare that somewhat unnerved John. A cold breeze went by making them both shiver.

"Uh, what am I doing? Come on in. It's freezing out here." He replied awkwardly as he took the child by his hand and brought him into the flat. The smaller Sherlock let himself be led inside almost like a rag doll, with the same blank stare.

Once inside, John lifted Sherlock so he was sitting in his old chair and he lit the fire in the fire place. "There we go." He smiled. "Let me make you some tea alright?" John said a little excitedly as he made his way to the kitchen.

The boy sat in the seat, not moving and blankly staring at the fire. John started shaking with emotion as he put the kettle on. What was he doing? How did he end up with a child? Was he supposed to be the boy's father now? Big brother? No he was much too old to be his big brother. Not to mention this went against all the laws of nature. He hadn't expected him to turn out to be a child.

John stopped to hold his head in his hand and stop the tears from flowing as reality dawned on him. Both tears of fear and happiness blinded his vision. After a few moments, he sniffed and wiped away the tears with the back of his hand trying to get a hold of himself. He took a deep breath and finished the tea. He brought a nice hot cup to the little Sherlock in the chair.

"Drink up." He said with a smile.  
The boy looked down at the cup with the same blank stare before doing as he was told and taking a large sip of the tea. He his eyes widened and he gasped as he threw the tea cup on the floor. He covered his mouth with his small hands and started to elicit small whining noises.

John jumped at the sound of the tea cup shattering and looked to the boy with wide eyes. Suddenly realizing what was wrong, John moved in to consul the boy. "Oh..no, no. Shh it's okay. I'm so sorry. I forgot it was hot. I should have warned you." He said as he stroked the boy's hair who continued to whine. Not like the fussing, Sherlock started batting at John's hands for him to go away.

John stepped back cautiously. "I'm sorry."

The boy continued to whine and cover his mouth giving John a warning glare.

John's heart sank. "I'm sorry, I just… figured you'd blow on it so it wasn't hot anymore." He panicked as he rushed to get some cold water. "Here…it's not hot." He offered the glass of water.

Sherlock looked from his seat defensively and not moving.

"Take it, it's good." John persisted.

Sherlock gingerly reached out and took the cup. He blew on it before taking a sip.

"You…didn't have to cool it down…it was already cold.." John said sheepishly.

Sherlock had enough to quench his thirst and let the cup slip from his hand and shatter to the ground with the water splashing everywhere. The doctor groaned.

"No…Sherlock. No. You don't do that." John scolded.

Sherlock looked up at John with curious eyes.

"When you're done with something you don't just drop it on the floor. You put it on the table or on the counter, or even in the sink." He instructed.

Sherlock stayed quiet as he watched John picking up the glass shards from both glass cup and the tea cup from earlier; water and tea flooding the floor.

Sherlock slid from his seat and crouched on the floor next to John. He grabbed one of the glass shards, effectively cutting his hand on it and placed it on the table. He was about to grab another before John's hand shot out and caught the boys wrist.

"Woah no…stop. You're bleeding."

Sherlock looked down at his hand where blood was dripping from his palm. He stared fascinated for a second before ignoring it and continued to grab another shard with his other hand.

"I said 'no' Sherlock!" John enforced firmly as he grabbed the other hand. "The glass can cut you if you aren't careful." Sherlock started whining and tried to release himself from John's grip. "Sherlock stop. I'm trying to _help _you." Sherlock continued to whine and pull from John's grip. "Sherlock, NO." John got up and started taking the little boy to the bathroom to patch up his hand. He got out his first aid kit and started cleaning the wound.

Sherlock watched intently as John started working on his hand. His eyes widened as John put the disinfectant on him making his hand sting. Sherlock whined louder and started struggling more; twisting his wrist and backing up as far as he could.

"Sherlock stay still it's alright. It's only going to sting for a little bit."

The boy shook his head and continued to struggle.

"Sherlock. Please just stay still!" John scolded. "I'm trying to make this better!" But Sherlock wasn't having any of it. He shook his head as tears started flowing down his eyes. It seems all this man wanted to do was hurt him, out of the possibly 10 minutes or so that he had been here, he has gotten burned, cut, yelled at and now this man was making his hand hurt even more.

However, even with all the struggling, John managed to fix Sherlock's hand up and wrap it in a bandage. "There, I'm done." He sighed and Sherlock stopped struggling. So John took the small hand in his own, he hesitated before giving it a small kiss. "See…all better."

Sherlock stared at his hand in fascination. He slipped it out of John's and examined the bandages before giving his own hand a kiss. John smiled sadly at Sherlock's action. The boy extended his hand out so that it was in front of John's lips; he looked to the man expectantly. John took the small hand in his own and gave it another kiss. Sherlock lightly smiled before presenting his other non injured hand to John. The doctor chuckled before pressing his lips to the other hand as well.

Satisfied with himself, Sherlock pulled his hands away from John's and made his way past the man and out into the hall. He looked around curiously before going back to the living room, avoiding the glass mess on the floor and navigating himself to the book shelf. He stared at it blankly before reaching up and grabbing a book and throwing it to the floor.

John entered the living room after putting the first aid kit away to find Sherlock throwing the book. He raised an eyebrow in confusion as Sherlock started repeating the action. After what looked like Sherlock getting bored, he watched as the boy made his way over the coffee table and started swiping the papers on it, to the floor and around.

"Sherlock what are you doing?" John asked tiredly. "You're making a mess."

Sherlock only looked up with same blank stare and John returned the stare. It was odd, it was like there was nothing behind those eyes, no memories no knowledge or anything. He was just a hollow empty child. A boy that didn't know right from wrong or what was unacceptable or not. True that was a little bit of how Sherlock had always been, but this time he was a lost and confused child. John swallowed nervously.

Suddenly the child yawned and it was then that John remembered how late it was. "Oh you must be exhausted." He whispered.

Sherlock sat on the floor, curled up in on himself and closed his eyes. John blinked not realizing what just happened. "Oh…no. You don't have to sleep on the floor silly." John came over and picked the boy up in his arms. Sherlock whined a little but allowed it. "When you want to sleep…" John took him to Sherlock's old bedroom. "…you can sleep here." He plopped him down on the comfortable bed and pulled back the covers. "Come on, get in." Sherlock looked to John in confusion. "Under…the blankets. Um..like this." John hauled his body onto the bed and got under the covers, still thankfully in his sleep wear from earlier. "See?"

Sherlock stared for a bit before crawling over to where John was and got under the covers next to him.

"Good." John smiled as he got out of the bed. "You can sleep there. It's comfortable right?" Sherlock only returned the same blank stare, staying silent. "…right." John whispered nervously under Sherlock's intense gaze. "I'll be upstairs if you need me." The boy said nothing. "…okay..." John turned on his heel and left the room. Shortly after, he found himself in his bed own bed, staring at the ceiling. Today had not gone exactly as he thought it would have.

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John could not sleep that night. So much just changed in John's life and it still hadn't fully sunk in. But laying there and recounting the events that just happened, it hit him like a ton of bricks. He suddenly found it hard to breath and tears started slipping down his cheeks and soon enough he found himself sobbing. Sadness? Joy? Frustration? John wasn't sure. It felt like every emotion a human could experience was welling up in his chest and suffocating him. What was he going to do? He had Sherlock back. He now had a child he was supposed to care for. Was he fit to be a care taker? He had been so stupid earlier, the boy had already bled and burned his mouth, he was sure he had lost the boys trust already. Not to mention the boy was so confused at the world around him, even the way he went around looked like he was using his limbs for the first time, which he probably was. And those haunting blank stares! It was like looking at a doll; a lifeless rag-doll.

John's body shuddered as a sob wracked his body. He heard the door creak open and shot up in bed and wiped the tears. He saw Sherlock standing in the doorway staring at John curiously.

"I'm sorry did I wake you?" John asked with a forced smile as he tried to calm his breathing down. Sherlock only returned the same curious gaze. "I guess…I'm just a bit overwhelmed." John sniffed. Sherlock stayed in the doorway before walking forward and climbing onto the bed. John watched as the boy crawled over and lay next to him. He grabbed the blankets and threw them over himself, before facing away from John and curling into a ball and started to fall asleep. John gazed down at the small form next to him for a few moments, not quite sure of what to say or do. Eventually he hesitantly found himself laying back down. "Good night…" He whispered.


End file.
